What Must Be Done
by Xelan
Summary: Dobby saving everyone in Book 7 always seemed like weak writing and implausible to boot. Here's a different way thing could have gone that puts a harder choice in front of Harry. I'd like to think it makes him more of a Hero rather than a Dumble's pawn. I don't know what genre this falls into. Comments? H/Hr story in a dark setting. Confused? The second chapter will explain it all.
1. Chapter 1

What Must Be Done

By Xelan

Disclaimer: I own nothing you recognize.

A/N: Special thanks to the good folks at Seel'vor's Group. Individual thanks to Dale D., Andrew C, and Jack T.

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Ron paced back and forth in a frenzied pace, alternately running his hands through his rough red hair or wringing those same hands fitfully. In a plaintive, frightened voice he would periodically call Hermione's name toward the closed door and up through the floor boards every time Hermione's screams sounded. Angry and full of fear, Ron rounded on Harry who was no less affected inside, but was seemingly just sitting on the floor with his back against the wall with his eyes closed.

"They've taken Herms... Look at you, just sitting there. Merlin, I haven't a clue why she'd choose you over me. We have to DO something! Get off your arse and do something!"

Harry said nothing but lines of concentration could just barely be made out in the dimness of the room.

"You bloody coward! I knew we should never have trusted you. I told Herms dozens-no-hundreds of times that you didn't have a clue what you were doing. That it was all dumb luck!" Ron paused his tirade for a moment, his breathing hard. Having caught his breath, his voice dropped down and he leaned in close. He was no longer shouting, but he sounded infinitely more snide and condescending. "And she defended you... did you know that? Starving and freezing, jumping at shadows and working herself senseless, she actually defended a rat bastard like you."

Ron pulled back from the sitting figure and he coughed as if to clear his throat.

Luna, badly hurt and barely conscious picked that particular moment to come to. She quickly took in the situation. "Ronald— don't..." was all she was able to say before the pain forced her back to unconsciousness.

"Not even wizard enough to fight me for her are you? Just wait until she hears how you did nothing to save her. You can be sure that I'll tell her every sodding detail. It's not like you deserve her. You didn't spend time persuading Mum to have me made prefect, or to have you two separated over the summers. I've spent years manipulating Herms so that even if she chose you, she wants me. She's my girlfriend in everything but name and I figure that if she survives the torture curse she'll be easy enough to manipulate."

Ron spat at the ground right in front of Harry. He'd meant to hit Harry, but he didn't have a lot of practice and missed.

Ollivander was in great pain but had been conscious throughout Ron's little tirade. It was at that moment that he chose to speak. "You, Mister Weasley, are a very evil young man."

"What would you know about it, you old goat?" The angry, foul redhead shot back.

"I've see many young witches and wizards throughout the years. Some have grown up to be great and some have grown up to be great and terrible. You, I think, have neither grown up nor are you great. And in the end, all that shall be remembered of you is that you were terrible; terrible as a friend and likely terrible as a lover."

"Bugger off you crazy-eyed, old man -like you know anything. You have no idea how I've suffered being friends with this cowardly, glory-stealing bastard!" Ron pointed at the unmoving Harry.

Unmoving, at least to the unobservant or perpetually angry, Harry's expression had taken on a grimace and his eyes were shut tight.

Ollivander was silent for a moment as his eyes took in more than Ron noticed about their silent companion. "Crazy I may be, but there has been an Ollivander selling wands for thousands of years and we are more perceptive than you might suspect. What I do know is that Miss Granger will be lucky to come away from her torture alive, let alone sane. Why exactly are you so sure of yourself? You are a prisoner just as certainly as we are."

Ron scoffed. "I'm a pure blood."

Ollivander was not impressed. "As am I," the elder wizard responded.

Ron rebutted. "The Dark Lord wanted something from you. If you'd cooperated, you wouldn't be stuck in here. All I have to do is make sure they know who I am and what I can tell them and they'll welcome me. 'Bout time I got some recognition aside from being 'the sidekick' of The-Coward-Who-Lived. One way or another, I'll get out of this, and Herms will be grateful. And even if she isn't..." Ron walked over to the immobile wand maker. "See this bottle here? I've been saving it for a special occasion. See, normally Herms is too good to get potioned since my botched jealousy potion attempt last year, but after some Cruciatus, I'll bet she won't mind a little Amortentia."

Ollivander's eyes were distant for a moment and for a second Ron thought he might have up and died on him. "I see I was mistaken." Ollivander said. "You are more evil than terrible. One might go so far as to say terribly evil." The old man closed his eyes.

Ron snorted at that. "Herms was the one good thing Harry had going for him and she's gonna be mine. She'll open her mouth, spread her legs and get down on her knees for me and there's noth-"

Ron felt something land on his shoulder and moved his hand to brush off the debris from the ceiling. Instead, he felt a hand on his shoulder and turned his head to see a fist grow wide in his sight.

-THWOK!-

Ron actually spun like a pinwheel in the narrow space and landed in a heap with his head at an odd angle. Ron's sputtering magic the only thing keeping him alive-for the moment.

Harry turned and walked to the cellar steps and pounded on the door. "Wormtail! I'll talk! Open the door!"

Several tense moments passed and then they heard the lock on the door click and a squelching sound as the door unsealed. "What is it, Potter?" the rat man snarled even as he realized there was something wrong with the boy's eyes.

Harry glared at the pathetic excuse for a wizard. He outstretched his hand and Peter began to cough. "Wha-wa are you..." and his hands were clawing at the iron like invisible grip squeezing at his neck. He clawed at his very skin and his tongue and cheeks bulged dangerously as his face turned a darker and darker purple. The saliva in his mouth gurgled and sputtered as the last wisps of air exited his crushed airway and he dropped to his knees and slowly slid down the cellar stairs coming to rest with his forehead upon the floor. Dead.

Shaking his head as if to clear it Harry did a wandless, silent, summoning spell to retrieve Pettigrew's wand. Wand in hand, he cast a mobilicorpus on Luna and Ollivander and moved up the stairs and through the house following Hermione's screams.

Leaving the two helpless ex-captives in a room he had sealed off, he confronted Bellatrix and her Death Eater cronies.

"Aww has wittle baby Potty wotty come to rescue his widdle girl friend?" She laughed cruelly and applied the Cruciatus to Hermione again.

Her voice hoarse from screaming, Hermione could still see a little though darkness was closing in on her. "Run... Harry... Run..." she managed before the all-consuming pain hit her again.

Harry's eyes burned red at the sight and he squeezed his left hand into a tight fist even as his right hand shot forward almost as if his wand was a lance.

Two Death Eaters had been flanking Bellatrix and more were in the outer rooms. She was supremely confident. That is, she was supremely confident until the Death Eater to her right screamed in a garbled cry as his heart was crushed into a red, meaty paste and the Death Eater to her left had his clothing transfigured into an iron maiden below the neck. His face still showing the shock as ninety-nine razor sharp blades punctured him from neck to toe.

Shocked beyond her insanity for only a moment, she did not immediately touch her wand to her Dark Mark. Then Harry began to move toward her.

He did not run, he did not walk, but instead he strode forward like a lord crossing to seat himself upon his throne. Bellatrix was breathing shallow, rapid breaths. Something was familiar about this. Something... something made her want to kneel and avert her eyes. Something was wrong with the Potter boy's eyes and she needed to call her Master. Slowly her wand inched toward her Dark Mark.

Then, in the span it takes to blink an eye, Potter was there. He was standing just to her right within striking distance. Bellatrix tightened her grip around her hidden dagger and prepared to stab deep into the boy's side.

"You have displeased me..." Came a gruff voice issued from Harry's lips and Bellatrix knew what was familiar and what was wrong with the boy's eyes. Harry's hand had descended on her forehead. She didn't even realize she had fallen to her knees. Her wand dropped to roll about the floor, dagger stuck tip first in the hardwood boards, and Bellatrix slack jawed as a commanding presence filled her and left her helpless.

Harry knelt down next to her in one smooth motion. "You are a disappointment."

Amazingly, Bellatrix's eyes began to water.

He picked up the fallen dagger and then pocketed her wand. "You must die now."

Bellatrix wanted to close her eyes, but the presence wouldn't let her.

Harry swung forward with the dagger. The movement perfectly poised and balanced, he slammed the dagger into the insane Witch's face right between the eyes at a slight angle. The sharp point and terrible force behind it easily pierced all that stood in its way and slid deep into her brain. Gasping and involuntarily sputtering, she slipped backward as the knife's weight was enough to tip her over. Her lifeless head lolled to the side.

Harry moved to Hermione in one frantic motion and cradled her twitching body. "Love... Hermione, speak to me." Hermione opened her eyes slowly. Her entire being ached and her body was one gigantic bruise, but Harry was calling her. He needed her, so she fought her way back from the Dark. Looking at his worried face, she blinked her eyes. Her eyes were still very sensitive to light and each breath seemed to be filled with broken glass, but for just a moment she thought his kind, caring, emerald eyes had been tinged red.


	2. What Was Done

What Was Done…

Disclaimer: I own nothing you recognize.

A/N: Special thanks to the good folks at Seel'vor's Group. Individual thanks go to Ralph S.

A/N2: If there is any ongoing Harry Potter story I would love to see a new chapter to, it would be Harry Potter and the Future's Past. Barring that, 30 Minutes II – The Gathering Storm.

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Harry didn't have a plan, but he needed one. Every time Hermione screamed he felt a small part of himself die inside.

He couldn't think... couldn't do anything without his wand and with Ron crying out like a hysterical fool. He would fight and keep on fighting so long as he was able, but not for himself. He'd long ago settled on the fact that he just wasn't meant to be happy-until Hermione had chosen him.

For one very brief moment while he was with her he had dared to imagine the possibility of living through this hell people called life. The idea of living and growing old with Hermione was a guilty pleasure. Something he knew he didn't deserve and deep down knew was an impossibility. He was completely and utterly screwed up, first by that damned prophecy, then the Dursleys, then by Dumbledore, and finally by Voldemort and his fucking Death Eaters - he'd told her as much.

After chastising him for his language, she told him that her life wasn't all sunshine and butterflies either. It wasn't as bad as for him, but she admitted she came from a broken home. The man she called her Dad was really her step-father. Her mum had drinking issues and most of the time they left her alone. When she was younger, they'd hired on a maid to cook meals and clean. It was from her she'd gained most of her bookish tendencies, but by the time she turned ten they'd decided she was too old to need watching and her parents had let her go.

Now she was being tortured by murderous psychopaths and it was all because of him- it was entirely his fault...

-Smack!-

Harry's eyes flew open. Reaching for the back of his head, he found no evidence of anything actually hitting him. Somehow, and Harry really wasn't sure how, he'd just been smacked on the back of his head in exactly the same way his girlfriend normally would whenever he would get too pointlessly angsty or whenever he'd been angsty long enough. It seemed impossible, but he and more importantly, his girlfriend could perform magic, and long experience made him loathe to doubt her ability to completely and utterly surprise him.

Okay… so… he had to save her. No wand, trapped in a below ground room, and his girlfriend surrounded by Death Eaters torturing her. He still had no plan.

Well… that wasn't exactly true. He had a plan, but it wasn't one of those plans that he ever seriously considered using.

Fact check: He needed a plan to save his girlfriend. He had a plan. The plan wasn't very good. In comparison to all the other plans he'd acted on in his entire life (most of which were thought up on the fly) this plan wasn't very good. And by 'not very good', what he really meant to say was 'bad'. In point of fact, this plan, which he'd never planned to actually use, was worse than bad. One might go so far as to say this plan was terrible, suicidal, moronic, brain damaged, or worthy of Ron. However, the most important aspect was that it was a plan, no matter how terrible or Ron worthy it was, and unfortunately, he had no others.

Hermione's screams cut through the air and Ron bellowed like a Hysterical monkey. Harry focused inward, lines of concentration framed his face as he forced his mind, his magic, and very soul into a part of him he'd always unconsciously avoided.

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"So, you've finally come..." spoke the smooth, sibilant voice that Harry had heard once before.

"Tom Marvolo Riddle, if I'm not mistaken"

Standing in one smooth motion from his golden throne set amidst the vast shelves of books in the library of Harry's mind, a younger Dark Lord Voldemort regarded his foe and host for the evening.

"Lord Voldemort, if you please." He spoke in a genteel sort of tone, tinged with iron.

"Tom it is, then."

Tom didn't let his irritation show. He began to pace around the boy who dared to confront him. Never approaching but never retreating, he walked a broad circle around the Potter brat. "My my, you must realize how strange this is for me. Seeing you here now has confirmed my long held suspicion. I knew I must be bound to a living thing, but I was never certain to who or what. Now, seeing you before me, you can be none other than the child of James and Lily Potter."

"Don't say their names."

"Ah! A bit of a temper I see. That would be my doing, I would imagine. The son of James and Lily, all grown up, or very nearly. That would make you Harry Potter… But how can this be? I know I set out to kill you on Halloween night. I have NEVER failed to kill someone once I've set my sights on their destruction, so how can you be HERE?

Harry's lips moved and there was a faint sound of whispering.

"What was that, Harry Potter? You must speak louder, Boy."

More whispering.

Tom took a step closer and met Harry's gaze. "You WILL speak up or I will kill you slowly where you stand!"

Harry said something that was a little louder. Tom could now make out every fourth word.

"Clever, clever boy. Did the Sorting Hat place you in Slytherin or did he place you in the same boorish house as your dear, dead parents?"

Harry took a step closer but still continued to whisper.

Tom smiled a sly, greasy smile.

Harry imagined he could see the fangs of a great serpent's head in place of Tom's.

"This is childish, Harry Potter. I've indulged your childish whims long enough." Tom flung his arms up, allowing his grey-black of his rob to slide back exposing his unnaturally pale arms. The light streaming through the high placed, Library windows dimmed and great wind arose around Harry.

What Harry's senses told him was akin to a miniature tornado centered solely on him, Harry steadfastly chose to ignore. He began to take slow, deliberate steps toward the loathsome fragment that Voldemort had left behind all those years ago.

"What do you think you are doing, Harry Potter?" demanded the shade of the Dark Lord, his voice ending in a threatening hiss.

Harry, in reality Harry's soul, his whole and unbroken soul, glared at the foul, dark creature and came to a stop standing right in front of him. The air was still. He spoke, and this time, not in whispers. "I have to save her. I don't have enough power to rescue her, but you have more than enough to spare, don't you?"

"Foolish boy! We are enemies! What madness has possessed you to think I would ever aid you, especially against my own Death Eaters?" Tom sneered.

Green eyes shining, Harry reached forward faster than Tom could follow and soon Tom was sprawled on his back. "I'm not asking, Tommy boy. I need more power to save her, so I'm taking yours."

Tom tried to knock Harry aside with a swipe of his hand. The blow impacted but Harry stood firm. He would do what must be done. He would save her even if he damned himself in the process.

Grasping the prone, squirming creature on both sides of his face, Harry squeezed and Tom thrashed harder. Harry put pressure on Tom's eyes with both thumbs and Tom howled in agony. Harry applied more pressure to Tom's skull and the tall, pale, shade of a man that was once handsome and powerful shattered in the grip of Harry's resolute desperation. Harry's battered and bruised but untainted soul stood in the center of vortex of dark knowledge, evil cunning, and cruel power and he opened himself to it. His eyes began to glow red.

Harry gritted his teeth tightly against the pain assaulting him. He'd had boiling water dumped on him as a child, been bitten by an ancient and powerful basilisk, nearly had his soul sucked out by a dementor, been exposed to dragon fire, and subjected to the Cruciatus curse on more than one occasion, but nothing had ever felt as painful as this. Every fiber of his being was brimming with dark, fetid power and his mind was overflowing with knowledge both strange and sinister. He could dominate the pure bloods, he could rule this pathetic world that sought to hound and destroy him. He had the power; he had the knowhow, he just-

And Harry screamed and clawed at the small, misshapen baby-like creature with dead white skin and burning red eyes that had latched onto his back when he had been distracted by the pain. What was left of Tom snarled and snapped his pointed teeth inches away from Harry's ear. It snarled and whispered dark thoughts of cruelty, domination and victory through violence and hatred and madness. Thoughts that were not his own bombarded Harry from the vile creature and he saw himself in his mind's eye as a dark robed, pale skinned, red-eyed conqueror standing upon the bleached white skulls of his enemies.

Harry was gasping for breath as the creature tempted him and tried to choke the life from his very soul in an attempt to reclaim his dark purpose and power. Harry's conscious reeled and for a moment nearly faltered. It would be so much simpler to let go, to stop fighting and let the red tide wash over him and flow back into the physical world. Tom in full control of Harry's body, with Harry's magic supplementing his own, would be an unstoppable force and everyone that ever hurt him would pay.

And in that moment, in that place, the part of Harry that he considered his very best, gazed across the blasted and pitted battlefield that was to be his future and looked closely around his throne of gold adorned with the skulls of those he had defeated. On a pike beside his throne hung the head of Hermione Granger… the woman he loved, the woman he had done everything for– she wouldn't have wanted this. Naturally, she wouldn't have stood by and let Harry go down this road unopposed, so of course he would have had to— and that best part of himself, the part that loved Hermione and let itself be loved by Hermione said '_NO_'.

Harry's focus, no longer split between the pain he felt and the lies from the ugly little creature, centered in on Tom's horrid little mouth. A hand flashed out and covered the mouth spewing filth and lies and then the noise died away. Harry was able to wrestle the little monkey-like albino creature into a submission hold, but despite its size, the creature was strong and slippery. He wasn't sure how long he could hold it in place.

It was then that Harry's consciousness returned to his body. As Harry became aware of the world around him, he heard Hermione scream again and was on his feet in an instant. He knew what he had to do to save her and now he had the means to do it. Unfortunately for Ron Weasley, Harry had also just overhead him gloating in front of Ollivander about his plan to potion Hermione.

Harry strode toward the traitorous young bastard standing before Ollivander.

The older wizard locked eyes with the glowing red eyes framed by Harry's face for one long moment. "I see I was mistaken." Ollivander said. "You are more evil than terrible. One might go so far as to say terribly evil." Ollivander then looked away before closing his own eyes in silent resignation.

Harry tapped Ron's shoulder once and then with his newfound power and knowledge made his displeasure known.

Having taken care of that loose end, Harry moved to the stairs and pounded on the door while calling for Wormtail. He had his reason for living to save and he'd be damned before he let them taker her from him – whatever the cost.

A none to cheery thought occurred to Ollivander moments after Wormtail opened the door. _May God have mercy on any who stand in his way, for Harry Potter__,__ evidently__,__ would have none._

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End Note: I'm not 100 percent happy with this. I may come back and tweak it some more. I'm also undecided as to whether there is really anywhere to go with this storyline. Frankly, if you go by Canon Moldyshorts, then this version of Harry should really make short work of him, right? Or would he? I'd be interested to hear what the readers think.


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